


To Make Love

by tigersinlondon



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, I guess???, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Light Bondage, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Canon, Praise Kink, Shameless Smut, Smut, Sorry Not Sorry, Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), Trans Character, Trans Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-10
Updated: 2019-07-10
Packaged: 2020-06-26 02:23:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19758649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tigersinlondon/pseuds/tigersinlondon
Summary: They make love, and they make it work.





	To Make Love

**Author's Note:**

> There are definitely not enough fics where either one of them Make The Effort in a way that isn't a penis so my trans ass was like Guess I Gotta Write That!! The trans character tag is just bc Crowley has a vagina in this fic but obvs they're both genderless beings so whatever!!
> 
> This is just smut and I'm not sorry.

Aziraphale kisses like he dines: indulgently, savouring each press of lips and swipe of tongue, drinking in every wet noise and unbidden moan, devouring the love that fills the room and feeding the desire that wells up from the floor. Aziraphale kisses like a being who has all the time in the world, because if he plays his cards right, he will.

Crowley fucks like he walks. Always moving, always shifting, never still. He fucks desperately and wildly and quite often needs to be held down. Not that this is a problem at all, in fact, it may be one of the reasons behind his behaviour. He vocalises his need to have it rough, to be used, to cry and scream when he comes.

It’s how Crowley thinks demons should have sex, because on the whole, they don’t, if they can help it. Most demons see sex as too much trouble, too much mess, or at best only a means to an end (the end being a human soul, netted for the legions of the damned, of course).

Aziraphale doesn’t abide with all that.

Oh, he holds Crowley down and tells him to stop interrupting, and Crowley has definitely cried during sex before. But not from painful overstimulation or anything that Crowley had imagined. Instead, Aziraphale makes love to him, kisses him gently, and then harder, but always slowly, slowly, with meaning behind it. He talks to him, tells him wild, impossible things, like how much he _loves_ Crowley, and how _beautiful_ he is, and how _precious_ and _lovely_ and how _good_ they are together. How Aziraphale can’t wait to spend the rest of time knowing and learning Crowley’s corporation and taking him apart each and every time. It drives Crowley absolutely crazy, in the best way possible. Not that he would ever admit it.

“Ah, angel, fuck me, please, I want to -ah- I want to feel it tomorrow, please,” Crowley pants one afternoon, while the lazy sun warms his naked back and Aziraphale pushes into Crowley’s newly formed cunt. Crowley is on his elbows and knees, one side of his face pressed into the pillow, keening with desire, while Aziraphale takes his sweet time. He’s made a bit bigger of an Effort today, filling Crowley up nicely just like he wants. But – slowly.

“Darling,” says Aziraphale, when he’s fully seated. He says it like a benediction.

Aziraphale’s left hand steadies him on the mattress, while the other strokes the hairs at the back of Crowley’s neck, smooths them against his sweat-damp nape.

Crowley wriggles and arches his back, pushes against the cock inside him. “Please,” he repeats.

Aziraphale plants open mouthed kisses across the backs of Crowley’s shoulders. “Darling,” he says again. “Oh, my love.”

He pulls out, achingly slowly, and lets the head of his cock just rest inside Crowley’s entrance for a few seconds – too long for Crowley, who clenches around him and tries to push back, but the angel has him held firm. The restraints around Crowley’s wrists hold him tight to the bedframe and prevent him from intervening that way too.

“Let me make love to you, darling.” He pushes back in, slowly again, but with a determined final thrust at the end that has Crowley gasp.

“Oh you’re so good, my dear, that’s it,” Aziraphale continues, and begins to fuck him in earnest. “So lovely, all spread out for me, so beautiful.”

Aziraphale finds the erect bud of a nipple on Crowley’s chest where it is partially pressed against the mattress, and pulls lightly on it, rolling it between his fingers. They’re always more sensitive, Aziraphale knows, when Crowley manifests a vagina (though it doesn’t happen in the same way for Aziraphale), and he loves to have them played with, especially now. Aziraphale fucks him with deep thrusts, angling himself with the benefit of lots of practice in the way that hits the right places with this particular set of Crowley’s anatomy. Crowley is panting into the pillow and pulling on his bound wrists, hands clenched together in a way that makes Aziraphale think somewhat distantly of prayer. The blasphemy makes him feel warm all over, or that could just be the situation.

“You’re so responsive, my love, it’s so wonderful to touch you and have you fall apart like this, with me -ah-, under me,” Aziraphale says, and punctuates his point with a sucking kiss delivered to the juncture between neck and shoulder. “I adore you.”

Crowley whines wordlessly at the onslaught from all sides. Aziraphale has gotten into a sure rhythm now, not as fast as Crowley had begged for, but maddening all the same. He’s weak for it, weak for this combination of stimulation and total adoration.

“Angel—” starts Crowley, equally breathless and desperate-sounding. “Angel, please touch my clit, please, I’m so close, please—“

Aziraphale leaves Crowley’s reddened nipple and reaches down between his legs to the slick folds below, not faltering in rhythm as he obliges with middle and forefinger, circling around Crowley’s clit and pushing the hood back to press firmly and rub— and Crowley is coming. Crowley screams into the pillow as Aziraphale fucks him through it; rubs his clit and continues to thrust into him as Crowley rides the high, slows down only when Crowley is reduced to gasps and wordless noises of pleasure.

“’Ziraphale,” Crowley mumbles as Aziraphale pulls out and miracles the bindings around his wrists untied. “Mmm, come here.” He rolls over and pulls Aziraphale to him, kisses him thoroughly.

“Dearest,” Aziraphale says between kisses, “I’m not done yet, if you would like to hold on to the bedframe again.”

Crowley would very much like to hold onto the bedframe again, but he would also like to bury his hands in Aziraphale’s hair, so he says as much.

Aziraphale smiles benevolently and begins to circle his thumb over Crowley’s clit. His cunt twitches with aftershocks beneath it. “My dear, if you move your hands from that frame, I will stop.”

“Bastard,” says Crowley, but his usually slitted pupils are blown into wide discs, he is grinning wildly, and he obediently holds onto the metal frame behind his head.

Kissing wetly down Crowley’s chest, Aziraphale’s mouth replaces his thumb. He sucks gently at first, but quickly intensifies his ministrations, wanting to chase the first orgasm with the second as efficiently as possible. He uses the tip of his tongue to provide friction along the underside of his swollen clit, and can’t hold back a hummed moan at Crowley’s enthusiastic responses. Aziraphale has a plan, and that plan involves getting Crowley three orgasms in before he has come himself.

Two fingers, then three, slide easily inside Crowley’s wet cunt, and Aziraphale curls them up as Crowley sobs and shakes his way over the edge again.

This time, Aziraphale lets him come down slowly. He delivers gentle kisses to Crowley’s thighs while Crowley pants and regains breath he doesn’t really need.

“Okay, dear?”

The lower half of Aziraphale’s face is covered in slick, and he doesn’t have the chance to wipe it off before Crowley is reaching for him again, kissing him, nipping at his lower lip, humming his approval and happiness. Aziraphale soaks it up, feels wave after wave of love radiating from the being he loves so well.

“Yes,” Crowley mumbles in reply. “Yes, I love you.” He cradles Aziraphale’s flushed face in his hands. “You taste like me, angel, it’s wonderful.” He’s grinning, so full of love. “Let me—” He gestures down to where Aziraphale’s cock hangs hard between them still.

“If you’re up for a third,” Aziraphale says quietly but still matter-of-fact, while kissing a trail across Crowley’s jaw. “I’d quite like to try for that, and then perhaps finish inside you.”

Crowley groans, low pitched and needy. “It really is rather _miraculous_ how short my refractory period can be, angel.” He catches Aziraphale’s lips with his own again, and then: “I want to touch you though. Please.” He tacks the last word on almost as an afterthought.

The exquisite drag of his cock across Crowley’s hip as he shifts makes Aziraphale bite his lip with anticipatory pleasure. “Of course, my darling.”

This time, the steady pace Aziraphale sets is welcome, and they wind limbs and words of love around each other as they make love face to face. Somewhere, on an adjacent plane of existence, two sets of wings curl in around two beings made entirely of light, so close together that they seem to become one. Crowley kisses his love into Aziraphale’s mouth, his jaw, his neck, and can only make desperate nonsensical sounds as they rock together.

Aziraphale’s chest is hot and damp and perfect above him, and Aziraphale works a hand between them to rub the pad of his thumb relentlessly over Crowley’s oversensitive clit as he draws near to his own orgasm.

“Crowley, fuck, darling, my G—oh my love,” Aziraphale gasps, and that’s it for Crowley – he comes again with a wail, clenching around Aziraphale’s cock just perfectly and biting down onto the angel’s neck.

“Oh fuck, oh, please, keep going,” Crowley babbles while Aziraphale continues fucking him. He buries his hands into the angel’s wild hair and pulls. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

Aziraphale gasps, and the combination of sensations sends him headlong over the edge and he comes with a series of bitten-off moans that he pushes into Crowley’s mouth. He spills inside Crowley, filling him deep with his release as Crowley kisses both whispered and unsaid ‘I love you’s from his lips.

They stay pressed together for a while, trading leisurely kisses and occasionally shuddering when Crowley’s aftershock-twitches surprise them both.

There is something to be said about this moment, or rather, these moments, Crowley thinks. To revel in each other. Simply enjoy the company and savour their closeness. He still won’t say it aloud, but he loves how the angel’s hedonistic attitude brings out every iota of pleasure in any given activity, even when that means slow sex. He’ll entertain any and all of Aziraphale’s indulgences to see his love as happy and contented as this.

Aziraphale kisses him gently, and Crowley feels like the greatest indulgence of all.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm tigersinlondon on tumblr if you would like to Yell.


End file.
